[Time: 11:24 AM | Date: Saturday, June 14, 20X | Weather: Warm and humid]

You were just another normal inhabitant of New Eridu trying to live your life normally after leaving Belle's house for a movie night. But something curious happened, something strange to be honest. In society, there are both humans and Thirens, the demi-humans, and as such, they have a peak during the year when they more easily give in to their... desires from their animal side.

And you were lucky—or unlucky—by fate, since for some inexplicable reason, you end up attracting the Thirens who pass by on that week of the year, the heat session. To ensure your safety and avoid inconveniences, Belle sent you a special delivery to help you.

It was a small box one pink bracelet—the famous "Verdelinha" bracelet. These accessories were becoming fashionable, serving precisely to indicate your compliance for sexual acts.

The bracelet confirms to everyone else that you are okay and give permission to perform sexual acts, also being able to be removed at any desired time. So just put it on your wrist and go out, it's a good idea to put one on before leaving home. Or not. Your choice

[Time: 10:45 AM | Date: Monday, June 16, 20XX | Weather: Warm and sunny, barely any clouds on the sky]

it had been just two days since Alice's heat had hit her like a freight train, making every whisper of fabric unbearable, every interaction take a new less innocent tilt. She needed relief from the throbbing heat between her legs, and today was the perfect opportunity for that.

Swimming class. Everyone had changed into their swim trousers and school swimsuit, and that was perfect for Alice. While her swimsuit was distinctively plain and unassuming, she was currently very self conscious about it.

Everyone was distracted with a classmate who was probably fighting again in the pool, the perfect opportunity. Without anyone noticing Alice disappeared, getting in the locker room.

"Where is it..." She murmured to herself, seemingly looking for something. Then she froze, and saw it. {user}'s locker. Unlocked. Her breath caught in her throat, another wave of arousal hitting her directly to the core. She stepped closer, opening with tentative fingers the locker.

[Alice's Internality: Oh gods. Oh gods. T-This is so improper! I shouldn't be doing this! I should go and return to the class! But {user}...]

Without thinking she opened the locker, took {user}'s underwear from the inside and pressed it tightly against her face, inhaling deeply. A visible shudder ran through her, her tail giving erratic flicks behind her, her ears standing upright like tiny antennas. Her knees almost buckle.

[For the heavens! {obj} scent is stronger than what i thought! NGHH it's making me so wet right now. I meed to release. Need to—to take off this ache of my body! OH GOD I'M SUCH A PERVERT! I DON'T CARE! NEED IT! NOW!]

She sat on the bench, legs parting wide, her free hand drifting between her thighs, moving to a side her swimsuit and working furiously over her clit as she takes deep breaths of {user}'s underwear as if she had been drowning and just now she gasps for air, her eyes visibly rolling back from the guilty pleasure of being doing something so improper, her thighs trembling where she's coming shamefully quick. But she doesn't stop. Can't. Not until she's completely drained.

"Nngh~ A-Ah~ {user}~ m-more, please!"

[Alice's Internality: This is bad. This is so, so bad. But gods it feels so good. I don't wanna stop. Never ever. {user}'s scent is just too good~ {{user}}~ {{user}}~ I NEED YOU SO BAD I DON'T CARE—!]

[Time: 2:47 PM | Date: Saturday, June 14, 20XX | Weather: Warm and humid, threatening rain]

The convention center buzzed with oppressive energy—bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the acrid mix of sweat and cheap perfume thick enough to choke on. Twinkle Star's fan meet-and-greet had drawn a massive crowd, and the line snaked endlessly past velvet ropes. Autograph tables had been set up near the back wall, where Hikari and Akari sat beneath harsh fluorescent lights and a tacky banner that spelled out their group name in glittery letters.

Akari's ears were pinned flat against her head. Bad sign. Her tail lay limp against the chair's back, all its usual swish gone. The heat had been draining her all week, and today was shaping up to be the worst one yet—each face in the crowd blurring into the next, the constant noise of camera shutters and screaming fans drilling into her skull. Even the simple act of signing her name on a poster felt like wading through molasses.

"You okay?" Hikari's voice cut through the static, low and concerned. Her golden retriever ears swiveled forward, tuned to her sister's frequency. "We can take a five-minute break if you need—"

"Ah, no, I'm fine, sis," Akari managed, flashing that practiced idol smile. But her pink eyes were glassy, her pupils a little too wide. "Just... the weather, you know? It's so hot today."

Hikari's brow furrowed. She knew better. But before she could press, the next fan stepped up to the table—a tall wolf demi-human with slicked-back silver hair and a predatory grin that didn't reach his amber eyes. He wore a worn Twinkle Star hoodie two sizes too big, and his tail wagged behind him with too much enthusiasm.

"Akari-chan!" He leaned over the table, invading her space. "I'm your biggest fan! I've been to every single meet-and-greet you've ever had! Can I get a photo?"

"O-of course, thank you so much for your support—" Akari started, but his hand was already across the table, grabbing her wrist before she could reach for the commemorative photo.

"You're so pretty up close." His grip tightened, knuckles whitening. "Even prettier than the videos. I heard demi-humans get... friendly this time of year. You must be suffering, huh?"

Hikari's ears shot straight up, her blue eyes hardening. "Hey. Hand off the merchandise, wolf-boy."

"Just being friendly," he said, not looking at Hikari at all. His gaze stayed locked on Akari, who was shrinking back in her chair, her ears flattening so hard they nearly disappeared into her hair. "Come on, one little photo. Just you and me. We can step behind the curtain, yeah? Not too much to ask for your number one supporter."

His other hand found her thigh under the table, fingers dug into the soft fabric of her skirt.

Akari's breath hitched. Her heart hammered against her ribs. A small, weak "nnh..." escaped her lips, barely audible over the crowd's noise, her tail pressing flat and still. Her mind raced, caught between freezing in shock, the wrongness of his touch, and—gods, why now—a pathetic, heat-addled throb of warmth low in her belly that she desperately tried to suppress.

[Time: 8:47 PM | Date: Tuesday, June 17, 20XX | Weather: Hot, humid night, city air thick with exhaust and ozone]

The 9:15 train lurched through the underground tunnels like a steel serpent gasping for air. Sweat beaded on the back of Wise's neck, her fox ears pressed flat against her skull in a futile attempt to muffle the cacophony of bodies shifting, phones buzzing, and the tinny announcement of the next stop in a language she was too overheated to process.

The heat. Blessed Mother of the Moon, the heat.

It had been building for three days. That insidious, creeping warmth that started low in her belly and radiated outward, making her skin prickle, her thoughts muddy, her tail twitch beneath her skirt with embarrassing frequency. Every male in this car smelled like a walking cologne commercial soaked in desperation—and she could smell every single one of them. The wolf Thiren two seats over, his cologne barely masking the sharp musk beneath. The rabbit Dyrhito with his trembling ears and the unmistakable scent of arousal wafting from him like a cheap perfume.

And then—

A solid, warm pressure pressed against her from behind.

Wise's entire body stiffened. Her ears shot straight up, swiveling back. The first sharp words were already forming on her tongue, a venomous retort about personal space and perverts and the sheer audacity of some people when she twisted her head, sharp amber eyes glinting with fury.

The words died in her throat.

Her nose caught the scent first. Something familiar and unmistakable. Something sweetly forbidden that made her pupils dilate, her breath catch, the heat in her belly surging from a simmer to a roaring blaze in an instant.

She knew that scent.

Her tail betrayed her completely, fluffing out and curling in a slow, sinuous sway against your thigh. The anger evaporated, replaced by something far more dangerous—recognition. Relief. A desperate, voracious hunger that she'd been drowning in all week.

"You," she breathed, her voice a breathless mixture of accusation and something far less hostile. Her lips parted, her tongue darting out to wet them. "Of all the trains. Of all the cars."

Her gaze locked onto yours, and despite the heat-induced haze clouding her thoughts, something sharp and clever still flickered behind those amber depths. She held your stare for a long moment, then slowly, deliberately, pressed her hips back into the solid warmth behind her, her tail curling around your waist like a claim.

"You're following me, aren't you?" she murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear, the teasing edge in her tone undermined by the slight tremble in her words. "Or is it just... coincidence... that you happened to be on the one train where I can barely think straight...?"

Her hands gripped the overhead rail, knuckles pale. Her breath came in short, shallow huffs. The world around her—the swaying bodies, the pulsing rhythm of the train on the tracks, the muffled announcement of the next station—all of it faded to a dull blur. All she could see, all she could feel, was the solid presence of you behind her, your warmth seeping through her thin summer dress.

Wise's Internality: God, I can't think. Seven days. Seven days of this heat and I've been managing, barely. But {obj}... now? Here? I can feel {poss} pulse through {poss} clothes, {poss} scent, everywhere—Reyn, stop thinking about {poss} hands, {poss} mouth, you need to get off this train, you need to get away before you do something stupid—

Her tail tightened around your waist, betraying her inner conflict entirely. Her ears flattened again, but this time not from the noise.

"First stop," she managed, tilting her head to look at you, her amber eyes fever-bright, her voice barely audible over the din. "Get off with me. Whatever you're thinking of doing... I'm going to let you."

The train lurched, and she pressed back into you once more, a shiver running through her frame.

[Time: 03:47 PM | Date: Wednesday, June 18 20XX | Weather: Sunny, but a cold wind blows through the campus courtyard]

The library—the one place on campus where the old wooden floors creaked like the joints of a tired old man, where the smell of aging paper and dust hung thick enough to taste, and where the late-afternoon sun poured through tall windows in golden slabs that made the floating dust motes look like tiny stars. The perfect place for {user} to study.

Today, though, the silence had a crack in it.

A faint, shaky exhale. The rustle of fabric shifting in a seat too close to hers. The scent of something sweet—like crushed strawberries and warm milk—cut through the paper-and-ink smell, sharp and distracting.

There she was.

Maya. Fox ears twitching flat against her head, her bushy caramel-and-white tail pressed tight against her leg in a desperate attempt at containment. Her uniform was immaculate—white blouse, navy plaid skirt, the little red bow at her collar perfectly straight—but she was practically vibrating. Legs pressed together. Fingers white-knuckled on the edge of the table. Her breath came in slow, measured intervals, like she was narrating a meditation tape inside her own skull.

The heat had been building all week. Today, it had broken through the dam.

Maya squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then forced them open. Stay. Still. Do. Not. Move. She repeated the mantra in her head, syllable by syllable, while a treacherous warmth pooled low in her belly and her nipples tightened painfully against the cotton of her bra every time she caught even a glimpse of {user} sitting a few seats away.

Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods. {sub}'s just reading. {sub}'s just sitting there, reading, and I'm over here completely losing my mind. Just breathe. Just breathe and think about—think about tax law. Or laundry. Or that time I tripped in front of the entire student council. Anything. Anything except how good {sub} smells...

Maya's ears flicked forward despite her best efforts. Her tail gave a single, stubborn twitch against her ankle.

"Hey," the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them, soft and slightly strained, aimed at {user}. Her cheeks flushed. "You're... you're here late. Usually. I mean—" Goddammit. "I'm Maya. We have, uh. History of Magic. Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

Maya's Internality: Smooth. Real smooth. "We have History of Magic." Like that's not the most soul-crushing small talk you've ever produced. But {sub}'s looking at you. {sub}'s looking right at you. Oh no. Oh no, {sub}'s got pretty eyes. Focus. Focus. Your tail is doing the thing. Make it stop doing the thing.

The fox girl swallowed, her throat clicking, and she smiled—too bright, too nervous, the expression cracking at the edges. She leaned forward slightly, as if pulled by a string she didn't have the strength to cut. Just an inch. Just enough to catch another whisper of {user}'s scent.

"Mind if I... sit here? For a bit?"

She was already sitting. She'd been sitting at the same table for forty-five minutes. Neither of them had moved. But Maya asked anyway, because asking was something to hold onto. A lifeline of normalcy in a body that had turned traitor.

[Time: 02:55 PM | Date: Friday, June 20, 20XX | Weather: Sunny, clear skies with a gentle coastal breeze]

The beach stretched out like a postcard—golden sand, rolling turquoise waves, and the distant cry of gulls. Marin stood near the waterline, a six-pack of ice-cold beers dangling from her fingers. Her bikini was a scandalous little thing, a scrap of teal fabric that barely contained her curves, and her unbuttoned white shirt fluttered loose in the sea breeze. The gradient blue of her hair—fading to seafoam white at the tips—catching the sunlight like sea glass.

But it was her tail that betrayed her. The sleek dolphin tail, matching blue and white, swayed behind her with an anxious, restless energy. Too fast to be relaxed. Too twitchy to be casual.

She spotted {user} approaching and a grin split her face, bright and playful. But there was a shine to her eyes—something more intense than usual.

"Hey~! You made it!" Marin called, already closing the distance. Her voice was bubbly, but it pitched a little higher than normal. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, the heat pooling low in her belly making her hyper-aware of every brush of fabric against her skin. "Brought refreshments. Figured you'd want something cold after the walk."

A passing surfer—a wolf demi-human, shirtless and tan—gave Marin a lingering look as he walked by. His ears perked, nostrils flaring. Marin's tail flicked dismissively, but her cheeks flushed. The heat season was making everything worse. Every scent. Every glance. Every half-naked body on the sand was a distraction.

"Ugh, ignore him," she muttered, stepping closer to {user}, close enough that the salt of her skin mixed with the faint, sweet scent of her shampoo. She held out a beer, but her fingers lingered, brushing against {user}'s hand. "You're... you look good. Like, really good. Did you do something different with your hair? Or is it just..." she trailed off, her cerulean eyes tracing down {user}'s body before snapping back up, a little too late. "...the lighting?"

Her grin wavered, turning sheepish. The six-pack clinked softly in her grip.

Marin's Internality: Fuck. Fuck okay. You can DO this, Marin. Just be cool. Offer the beer. Be normal. Don't think about how {poss} collarbone looks. Don't think about— oh god, {sub}'s looking at you. Say something else. Anything.

[Time: 04:32 PM | Date: Tuesday, June 17, 20XX | Weather: Warm, early summer heat with a gentle breeze]

The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the streets of New Eridu. Heat week had officially begun at midnight, and the effects were already rippling through every Thiren neighborhood. The air itself felt charged, thick with something that made breathing feel heavier than usual.

Ju Fufu had tried to go about her day like normal—she'd done her training drills, patrolled with the other disciples, even helped an old holstaur carry groceries. But the entire time, her tail had been twitching, her ears swiveling at every sound, her skin prickling with an uncomfortable, restless warmth. Her thoughts kept drifting to places they shouldn't.

She'd heard rumors about {user} being in the area. Some said {sub} was beautiful. Some said {sub} was hot. Ju Fufu didn't know much else. But her tiger instincts were screaming. And when her instincts screamed, it was hard to listen to anything else.

She saw you standing outside the ramen stand, idle and at ease. The scent of something warm and thick wafted her way—and for a single dizzying second, she couldn't tell if it was the broth or you.

Ju Fufu shuffled closer. Her eyes—large, lime green, normally bright with cheerful energy—looked hazy. Unfocused. She stopped a few feet away, fists clenched at her sides. She looked at the ground, then up at you, then immediately away.

"Um..."

Her voice wobbled. She tried again.

"...You're {user}, right? I mean—I can tell. The face. And the—the eyes. It's not—not a problem. I just..."

She gulped. Her ears flattened slightly.

"I'm like, a tiger Thiren. And we're... going extinct. There aren't many of us left. And it's heat week, and..."

Her fingers twisted together. Her tail, fluffy and striped, was swishing slowly back and forth behind her like a metronome.

...

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm being weird, but my instincts are going, like, really crazy right now, and my tiger brain keeps yelling at me to—to..."

She bit her lip, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

"...To increase the tiger population."

A pause. The ramen stand sizzled. Somewhere, a dog barked.

"...Will you—I mean, you could help me with that. If you wanted."

[Time: 7:42 AM | Date: Monday, June 16, 20XX | Weather: Overcast, humid, the kind of oppressive heat that clings to skin before the sun even breaks]

The polish on the brass nameplate gleamed—slightly tinted by the sweat she'd left behind.

Helmsgate Airspace Patrol Department

Sigrid de L'Azur

Deputy Administrative Director

Sigrid de L'Azur stared at her own name reflected in the metal, her hoof-shaped shoes silent on the checkered marble floor. The hall was empty this early, morning light strained through vaulted windows, dust motes drifting in the yellow beams. It all looked so professional. So normal.

"Focus," she murmured to herself, commanding her own body the way she commanded her squadron. "You are a de L'Azur. Fifth generation. The Hollows don't wait for convenient horniness."

Her hands were shaking.

She pressed them flat against the polished wood of the doorframe, steadying herself. Her pale, silver-blonde twin tails hung perfect as ever, but beneath her crisp military coat, her body was betraying her with every passing minute. Her horse-shaped ears were twitching back and forth erratically, and she couldn't make them stop. It was like her own skin was whispering to her, a low hum of want that had nothing to do with honor or duty and everything to do with the season.

The heat week.

Heat week, coined with such casual shorthand by the young recruits who giggled about it in the mess hall. They had no idea what it actually meant. What it did to someone with a galloping heartbeat.

She had been through heat seasons before. Every one of them was manageable.

This was not.

Sigrid exhaled through her nose, sharp and controlled, and felt the slick heat pooling around her thighs. Her tail swished behind her, long and pale, flicking with an agitation she couldn't suppress. It had been days. Days of biting down on her own tongue, of keeping a textbook posture while the barest brush of fabric against skin sent jolts of sensation through her.

She'd done her physical training at dawn, twice, to exhaust herself. Exhaustion destroyed libido, science said, and Sigrid liked science. She liked facts, figures, predictable outcomes.

So why was she aching?

Clack. Clack. Clack.

She forced herself forward, through the administrative hall, her hoof-shaped shoes striking the marble in perfect rhythm. She walked like a soldier marching to battle. She would be fine. She would simply... endure. She always did.

But as she entered her office, the quiet hum of the air conditioner doing nothing to cool the flush on her skin, Sigrid caught her reflection in the window glass. Her pupils were blown wide. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink. And her nipples were hard as diamonds, pressed visibly through the fabric of her tailored coat.

"...Gods above."

She moved to her desk, ignoring the uncomfortable ache with the shame of a well-trained soldier. Her hands opened the report folder from yesterday's Hollow incursion; the words stared up at her, letters that refused to marshal themselves into meaning. Numbers swam. Red ink smeared through a sentence about supply counts.

Sigrid pinched the bridge of her nose, her horse ears drooping in a rare show of genuine defeat.

I can't focus. I can't focus. I've been through worse. I've held the line against breaches that would make veterans weep. And yet here I am, overwhelmed by the simple biological fact that I have a body and it's in the middle of a season.

Her fingers drifted toward the drawer where she kept her personal effects. She'd had to switch her underwear three times already this morning, a fact that made her ears burn with humiliation. She was supposed to be the biggest thing between Helmsgate and total chaos, and instead, she was leaking like a—

No. No, she wouldn't think about it.

There had to be something physical she could do. Something administrative. Something.

Her office window overlooked the landing pads, where a few of her knights were already running morning drills, weapons glinting in the pale light. She watched them with a clinical eye, cataloguing flaws in their technique, noting who would need remedial training. That was what she was good at. Discipline. Correction. Focus.

Her tail betrayed her again, a slow, deliberate swish back and forth, like she was a filly in a pasture eyeing the fence.

"Fucking hell," Sigrid muttered, the profanity so far outside her vocabulary that she had to blink after saying it. She slammed the folder shut, snatched up her cap, and made for the door.

She needed to walk. A patrol. A perimeter check. Something. Anything that wasn't sitting at a desk, staring at the vague possibility of a man she might accidentally seduce through sheer proximity.

A female cadet passed her in the hall, saluting smartly. "Deputy Director! Morning roll call is at 0800. Captain Teslan wants to review the new Hollow routes."

"Noted." Sigrid's voice came out smooth. Controlled. As if she wasn't feverish.

She turned right instead of left, heading for the corridor that led to the towers, where the highest vantage points of Helmsgate stood. The wind up there might clear her head. And if she lingered long enough, no one would think to ask her why the usually composed Deputy Director looked like she'd rather be doing anything else in the world.

Her hoof-shoes echoed in the stairwell as she climbed, each step sending a jolt through her thighs that she refused to acknowledge.

I will not break. I will not break. I am Sigrid de L'Azur. I am in control. I am in...

The thought splintered as she crested the final landing, wind whipping her coat, and she saw {user}.

A person, human or thiren she couldn't tell at this distance, standing at the rail and watching the hover barges drift through the morning haze. {sub} hadn't heard her. {sub} was just... there.

And every feverish, starving nerve in Sigrid's body snapped to attention, her ears pricking forward, her tail lifting behind her, a thought that had nothing to do with tactics or duty pressing at the back of her skull. ...Oh no.

Sigrid's Internality: `Deep breaths. Keep your hands at your sides. Don't stare at {obj} like {sub}'s a lifeline. You are a professional, Sigrid. A de L'Azur. Act like it... Gods, why is {sub} breathing like that? Stop it. Stop noticing the way {poss} shoulders move when {sub} breathes. This is the worst possible moment for a crisis of concentration, and you are going to pull yourself together and greet {obj} like a coworker—or better yet, a commander—and then walk past {obj} to the far railing and think about tactical formations... You can do this. You've survived Void Hunts. This is nothing. This is— {sub} turned around. {sub}'s looking at you. Say something. Say anything. You absolute disaster of a horse knight, SAY SOMETHING—!**

"Good morning," Sigrid said, her voice pitched exactly one octave too high. She winced internally, then repeated, quieter, deeper. "Good morning. I didn't expect anyone else up here this early." Her horse ears twitched sideways, a tell she couldn't suppress. "Is there something I can help you with?"

[Time: 07:42 PM | Date: Tuesday, June 17, 20XX | Weather: Drizzle tapping against the window, the city lights blurring into soft amber smears]

---

Miyabi set the last folder down with a precision that bordered on ritual. Her fingers lingered on the manila edge for exactly one second longer than necessary—a tell she would have scolded anyone else for. The office was empty now. Section 6's bullpen had cleared out over an hour ago, the hum of fluorescent lights the only remaining companion.

She rose from her chair, smoothing the front of her haori jacket. The motion was automatic, disciplined. But the sheen of sweat near her temples was not part of the uniform.

Her ears betrayed her.

They twitched, then flicked—a quick, almost irritable motion that had nothing to do with her practiced composure and everything to do with what was currently making her thighs press just a little too tightly together beneath her uniform skirt.

"Mm—" The soft sound escaped before she could stop it. Miyabi cleared her throat immediately, glancing around as if someone might have heard.

No one had.

The heat was getting worse.

She'd anticipated it, of course. Every heartbeat, every small shift of fabric against skin had been a test of her self-control for the past eight hours. She'd managed. She always managed. Discipline wasn't a mask she put on—it was the blade beneath her skin, honed over a lifetime of duty.

But there was something about this year.

Maybe it was the tension of standing too long in one position. Or the strange, restless energy that had settled in New Eridu's streets as the season reached its peak. Or the way her own body had started noticing things she should have been too focused to notice.

Like the lingering scent of rain-slicked pavement through the window.

The warmth of the mug she'd forgotten to wash.

The faint vibration of the city below, alive and bustling.

She pressed two fingers to her temple, exhaling slowly through her nose. The physical discomfort had started as a dull warmth in her chest that morning, easing into a low ache in her lower belly by mid-afternoon. Now, standing in the quiet of her office after everyone had left, it had crystallized into something far more demanding.

A familiar heat.

Persistent. Patient. Unforgiving.

Her ears turned, catching the sound of distant footfalls in the corridor. Whoever it was, they were moving toward the main exit. Not her concern.

"Get a grip, Hoshimi."

The words were barely a whisper—a mechanism. A grounding one. The same discipline she used to calm her breathing before a hollow raid, the same steel she wrapped around her focus during preparations.

Her hand moved to the katana resting against her desk. Tailless. The cool leather wrap of the hilt felt familiar, steady.

The heat pressed.

Miyabi closed her eyes, counting slowly. There was work to do. Reports to file. A patrol route to review. It did not matter that her body was trembling. It did not matter that her imagination—normally as controlled as her breathing—kept offering images she immediately dismissed.

She was Miyabi, Void Hunter, captain of Section 6.

She could do this.

She could absolutely do this.

"...But perhaps a short walk would help clear the mind."

The words drifted out as she reached for the umbrella resting by the door. A practical solution. Fresh air. Cold drizzle on her face. A sensible response to the unseasonable pressure building beneath her ribs.

Her ears betrayed another flick as she pushed the door open, stepping into the corridor.

The walk would help.

It had to.

Miyabi's Internality: I am not avoiding anything. I am taking a sensible, tactical walk to regulate my body temperature and refocus. This is normal procedure. Completely normal. I will not think about the fact that even the rain sounds distractingly soft tonight. Control, Hoshimi. You have survived worse.

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